


On Repeat

by ProfessorFrankly



Series: Unexpected Help [2]
Category: Merlin (TV), The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Rough Trade, Sentinel Fusion, after camlann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7556710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFrankly/pseuds/ProfessorFrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic helped Merlin hide his status as a Guide while he watched his Sentinel rise--and fall--as High King of Albion. He lives alone, immortal, waiting for the day his Sentinel will be returned, and for a chance to show he's learned from that mistake. For Merlin, there's no more hiding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> This work was created as part of the Rough Trade July Sentinel Fusion challenge. It's not my first Merlin story, but it is the first one I'm posting. Please enjoy.  
> Update 9/9/16: This story takes place in the magical universe started in "Unexpected Help" and is one of a trinity of stories that lead up to a larger piece I'm writing in this world.

 

Merlin polished another ceramic tankard and set it upon the shelf above and to the right of his polished oak bar. He worked methodically, ignoring the low voices from the regulars in the corner who’d already picked up their lagers while simultaneously keeping an eye out for a new customer. 

 

Tuesdays, though, were always slow. After more than a millennia tending bar in the same spot, he had reason to know. Nothing of import ever happened in the sleepy little village that once was Camelot.

 

Oh, the tourists came and went. But the farmers in the area came in on market days to spend a few quid on ale or cider, the villagers came in of an evening for a pint and a conversation, and the pattern to the days rarely varied. Once in a great while, their bartender went off on holiday, and one of the local boys stepped in to draw beer and serve fish and chips. 

 

No one ever seemed to question the fact that the bartender himself never changed. And Merlin didn’t bother with pretending to age up and out, or to replace himself with a “nephew” or distant relation every generation or so. He’d thought about it, but in the beginning, there didn’t seem much point. Everyone knew he was Merlin. Everyone knew about magic.

 

Today, no one talked about the magic. Oh, some shared stories. There were whispers here and there about Camelot, and the shadow cast by Glastonbury Tor over the village, and the lake nearby that never seemed to go dry, even in drought. Whispers told, too, of the once-and-future-king, of an immortal Merlin who waited in his crystal cave for Arthur to reappear and save Britain.

 

Whispers, Merlin thought, with a sigh, that never quite got the whole story right. 

 

Around 600 years into his interminable wait, Merlin told parts of the true story to a wandering minstrel, Geoffrey of Anjou. Geoffrey sang beautifully, flirted outrageously, and fucked like a champ. He was also looking for new material. Merlin gave it to him. Pun totally, and outrageously, intended.

 

Was he supposed to be celibate while he waited millennia for Arthur to return?

 

And how was Merlin supposed to know that Geoffrey would spin the tales into the great romances that became legends, or weave himself into them by marrying into the court of Anjou? His wandering troubadour fathered a queen who would put her children on every throne in Europe, even as her lout of a fourth son, John, gave away his divine right to the throne by being an utter ass.

 

What true prince lets himself be blackmailed into signing something like the Magna Carta?

 

Merlin shook the thought off as he finished the last piece of glassware and set it up. Truth be told, Geoffrey was one of very few lovers he’d taken during his very long life. Few, because, in truth, Merlin did wait for Arthur, who was not only his King, but his Sentinel. 

 

Arthur had gone into the lake that final time knowing he was leaving his Guide behind, but he’d known for mere hours only, and it was far, far too late for them to bond. 

 

Merlin believed his wait was partly penance for hiding his true nature from Arthur for so long.

 

And maybe, magic just liked to mess with him.

 

.

 

“Oi, Merlin, need a pint o’ Guiness o’er here,” John Trumbull, a local farmer who stopped in everyday at precisely 5:30, hollered out. 

 

“On it, there, mate,” Merlin answered, absently building the pint he’d already started to pull at 5:25. Building a Guinness was an art of its own.

 

John strolled up to the bar and took his seat, looking around a bit at the locals and their beers. “Say, Merlin, may I have a quiet word?” 

 

Merlin gave him a half smile. “Trouble with the missus again, then?”

 

“Nowt a bit of it, actually,” John assured him. “Just, it’s there’s strange goings on about today, and I thought you might know a bit of it.”

 

“Strange goings on?” Merlin shook his head. “I’ve been here today. Nothing strange about in this pub today.”

 

“Ah, then, perhaps I’m wrong.” John took a sip from the tankard set in front of him, then looked up. “It’s just, there was a bit of a fuss at the lake earlier. A nice young man in old armor--you know the sort, like at the festivals?--trying to find something or another. Speaking in what sounded like Welsh, but not.”

 

All the hair on the back of Merlin’s neck stood up. “Oh?” He tried to sound casual, but his heart started hammering in his chest.

 

“Oh, indeed.” John took another swallow of his beer. “He finally shrugged everyone off with a smile, looked around a bit, and headed for the Tor.”

 

Merlin gulped. Few today knew that the hill known as Glastonbury Tor actually covered the remains of Castle Camelot. It was razed by invaders three centuries after Arthur left; Merlin himself concealed the rubble. “When was this, John?” Merlin asked.

 

“Oh, must be an hour or so.” John shot him a crafty glance. “Now what might a man in armor be doing out and about in the shadow of the Tor? After leaving the lake?”

 

Merlin shook his head. The Trumbulls had farmed in the area for nearly as long as Merlin had kept the pub, and the family stories surely had been shared down. “I dunno, Johnny. Probably the same thing I’m doing here tending bar instead of pining in a crystal cave.” Merlin said it sarcastically, but John tapped his own nose to acknowledge a truth better not spoken.

 

“So, Merlin, I told myself that yourself needed to be going to find this young man in armor and see what he’s about,” John continued, seriously. “It’s your duty as a citizen of the realm.”

 

Sure he’d lost the plot somewhere, Merlin just raised another eyebrow. “And who’ll mind the pub?”

 

“I’ll cover you, mate,” John said. 

 

.

 

Still not quite certain what was happening, Merlin started down the trail toward the Tor that left from the back of his pub. It wasn’t a long walk at all, just a half-mile or so to the base of the Tor, and a path that circled it. Other paths led up to the pinnacle of the hill, which legends now said held a well that concealed the Holy Grail. Or a mystical gateway to the Isle of Avalon. Or anything but the truth, which was that Merlin couldn’t bear to see Castle Camelot in pieces, and used magic to conceal the rubble with dirt and turf to create the Tor. 

 

Still, the legends brought the tourists in, and kept the village thriving, so he supposed it was a fair trade.

 

As Merlin approached the base of the Tor, he gently loosened his hold on the empathic shields he used to protect himself from the emotions of those around him. He’d never had a modern intake; he didn’t know what level Guide he’d be, but given his personal magical power as the last Dragonlord, he sort of assumed he was pretty high-ranking. Arthur, his intended Sentinel, has been (was? Will be?) a fierce and powerful warrior, even without the bond that Merlin had denied them, those many years ago. Loosening his shields allowed Merlin to sense the people on or around the Tor, and as his senses sifted gently over the few who’d ventured out, he stumbled.

 

_ Arthur was here _ .

 

Part of Merlin wanted to jump and run to the pinnacle of the Tor, where he could sense his Sentinel. Another part wanted to run fast in the other direction, suddenly unready to face the consequences of his biggest mistake.

 

Not for the first time, Merlin wondered how Camlann would have gone, with Arthur as a fully bonded Sentinel.

 

He shook it off. He would not be a coward now. But neither would he run forward. He was much too old to --

 

“Mer-lin, when are you going to get up here and greet me?” The whisper on the wind from his Sentinel spurred Merlin to action, and he ran.

 

.

 

They met at the top of the hill overlooking the remains of what was once the kingdom of Camelot, and the base for the coalescing of the five kingdoms.

 

He looked the same, Merlin thought, despairingly. How can he bloody look the same?

 

Arthur’s cornsilk hair flopped over blue eyes that could still pierce through him with one look. He wore the armor he’d been “buried” in, the Pendragon red cloak slung over a shoulder, but his hands were empty of weapons. He looked smugly patient, knowing, perhaps, that Merlin couldn’t keep away.

 

“Hello to you, too,” Arthur said as Merlin reached the top. “Like to make me wait, then, do you?”

 

Merlin rolled his eyes reflexively. “I’ve been waiting for you for more than 1,500 years, prat; I think the fifteen minutes it took for me to get to the top of the Tor was probably manageable, even for you.”

 

Arthur chuckled. “I’ll never admit it.” He turned from looking out over the land to look at Merlin. “You’ve changed.”

 

Merlin shrugged, uncomfortable. “I aged a bit. Though if I truly looked my age, I’d be bones.”

 

Arthur shook his head. “You finally look mature. A little silver at the temples, a little beard.” He cleared his throat. “You look good.”

 

“You look amazing,” Merlin said softly. “You’re alive! You’re here!” He took a deep breath. “I’m not actually sure what to do with myself under these circumstances.”

 

Arthur took one step forward, holding a gloved hand out to Merlin. “Take my hand. That’s our start, Guide.”

 

Merlin exhaled noisily, then slowly stepped forward, sliding his naked palm against the rough leather. “A new beginning, then?”

 

Arthur nodded, pulling his Guide close and wrapping his other arm around him before inhaling his scent. “We’ll do this right this time. No hiding, no secrets. We’ll bond, and we’ll take care of our enemies, and we’ll laugh and we’ll love and we’ll fight and we’ll make up. You’re mine, Merlin. Now and always.”

 

“Yours,” Merlin whispered back. 

 

They held each other for a long moment before Arthur drew back. “So, I’m guessing my armor is a little rough on your skin. Do we have someplace to go?” He looked around ruefully. “It looks like my place is out.”

 

Merlin laughed helplessly. “I do.”

 

.

 

Merlin’s pub beckoned, and the pair waved at John as they entered the side door to head upstairs to Merlin’s rooms. John nodded acknowledgement, then started to herd the light crowd out.

“The tavern, Merlin? Really?” Arthur smirked as he glanced around. “It’s barely changed.”

Merlin shrugged. “A few modern appliances. I wanted someplace comfortable and nearby to wait for you.”

“Profitable?” Arthur asked as they made their way up a familiar narrow staircase.

“Off and on.” Merlin stepped up into the narrow hallway and opened the first door on the right. “I’ve had a lot of time to accumulate and invest in the varied coin of the realm, Arthur. The pub doesn’t need to be profitable.”

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement as they stepped into a comfortable sitting area. He could see where the wall between the original rooms--meant for privacy of travelers--had been taken down to expand the space into a bigger living space, with what looked like a cooking area toward the other end. “Comfortable,” he commented.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “I wanted something private, but bigger. In the beginning, I just slept in what was this one room, and let out the others. As that became unnecessary, I took over other rooms. I broke down this wall, opened up the other, got a kitchen.” He gestured to the back of the kitchen, where a door on his left went back to the hall and another door in front of them led to another area. “That door by the stove goes to an indoor privy and bathing area. I have a bedroom across the hall that way with a nice sized bed, and I have two guest rooms with attached indoor privies--the slang today is ‘loo’--that I let out if there’s a need.”

“I like it,” Arthur said, and lay a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Why are you showing me the living area when what I want most is to be in your bed chamber?”

Merlin sighed out a breath and turned into him. “I just. We’ve got so much ground to make up for. So much to learn. Why are you here now? How will you acclimate? Have you really forgiven me? My mind is spinning.”

“Ah.” Arthur ran his hands down Merlin’s arms and settled them on his hips. “For one, I’ve not been idle the last 1,500 years, either. On Avalon, I rested, healed, trained, and watched. I wasn’t able to come to you until there was true need of me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see you, Merlin. Or think about the lives we led together before my first death.” He swallowed as he pressed his nose into Merlin’s neck, breathing him in, re-familiarizing himself with Merlin’s scent. “I understand why you had to hide your magic. And given the constrictions of our classes, my need for an heir …” He trailed off. “I see why you chose to hide that you were my Guide. I wish you hadn’t, but I understand why you did it.”

“But if I’d told you, Arthur, you might not have died at Camlann!” Merlin’s quiet despair permeated the words even as Arthur started shaking his head negatively.

“Merlin, I was always meant to die at Camlann,” he said gently. “My bonded status wouldn’t have mattered at all--except it would have meant you’d join me in death. And the world needed you.”

“I’ve not done much,” Merlin said.

Arthur snorted. “Ah, yes, the quiet barkeep. Who goes on holiday and teaches magic. Or saves a life or two. Or acts as a medic on battlefields from here to Guam. Certainly, Merlin. You’ve not done much at all.”

Merlin glared. “Shut up, prat.”

Arthur shifted back and looked into Merlin’s eyes. “Guide, we’ve waited long enough. Bond with me?”

Merlin lifted his right hand and cupped Arthur’s cheek, and both groaned at the first touch of skin on skin. “You know I will.”

“Then lead me to your bedchamber, and help me off with this armor, please. It grows heavy, and we have much to do.”

.

It felt very familiar, helping Arthur with his armor.

As Merlin settled into the familiar, old routine of undressing his liege, he took a deep breath, and allowed his empathic shields to begin thinning, opening himself up to truly feel Arthur in a way he’d never allowed himself to in their other life together. Arthur stood quietly, arms held out, as Merlin started to pulled his armor off. Arousal spun between them as Merlin started by pulling off Arthur’s heavy gloves, and laying them to the side on the bureau. He ran eager hands over Arthur’s shoulders as he lifted the heavy red cloak off and unfastened the brass pin buckle that held it closed, swirling it over the armchair in the corner of the room. 

His eyes flashed gold once, as Merlin conjured a wooden mannequin to stand near the window between the chair and bureau to hold the rest. He exhaled as he shifted the plated shoulder pieces from their buckles and laid them down; inhaled as he slipped the breastplate off. Arthur held utterly still as Merlin moved around him, loosening chain and dragging the mail up and over Arthur’s head, leaving only the linen undershirt, tucked into the leather trousers they’d decided on for mobility, lo those many years ago.

Merlin knelt, unlacing shin guards from the leather boots, and setting them aside, before coaxing his Sentinel to sit on the edge of the king-sized bed so he could remove the boots themselves. He knelt at Arthur’s feet, and drew each boot off carefully. Gulping, Merlin laid his head on Arthur’s inner thigh, and tears started to trickle down his face as Arthur stroked through Merlin’s hair. 

“Shhhh,” Arthur crooned quietly; “I’m here. This is really me. You can feel that, can’t you? Open up your shields for me, Merlin. And come up here.”

Merlin nodded against the leather, and stood, leaning into his Sentinel’s space. For the first time, their lips met.

Oh, Merlin thought. Oh, gods.

And Arthur took him over.

Ruthlessly, Arthur stripped himself and his Guide to the skin, imprinting sight, sound, and smell as he laid Merlin down on the bed. He paused then, looking into Merlin’s wide, lust-filled indigo eyes, and he smiled. “Mine, Merlin,” Arthur said solemnly. “Now and always.”

Merlin nodded and smiled back, raising a hand to Arthur’s face. “Yours. As you’re mine, now and always.”

Arthur grinned wickedly, leaned down, and continued to imprint taste, using his lips to trace out the delicate collar bones, biting gently on an Adam’s apple, flicking a tongue over a nipple. He worked his way down Merlin’s body, building an imprint of the man in all his senses.

And then he felt Merlin open up completely.

Magic sparked between them as Merlin’s empathy reached out to draw their psionic imprint. Arthur hummed at the feeling of their energies intertwining even as he turned Merlin onto his stomach and continued mapping the tastes of his Guide. As he reached Merlin’s beautiful buttocks, the heavy empathic weight between them eased, the twining of their inner selves nearly complete. Arthur parted Merlin’s cheeks and tasted him there, running his tongue over Merlin’s entrance and listening to Merlin’s increasingly desperate sobs. 

A hawk’s cry overhead made Arthur lift his head, and he smiled at the sight of the Merlin, who swept over them both to land on the bureau. A roar from the corner made Merlin lift up a bit and grin himself at the sight of the African lion who joined them.

“Yours?” Merlin asked hoarsely.

Arthur laughed. “Yes. And I had no idea what he was until I was in Avalon.”

“King of the jungle,” Merlin laughed with him. 

“That’s his name, too,” Arthur said. “He’s Brenin.”

Merlin’s laughter faded. “My Merlin is Emrys.”

Arthur rolled Merlin so that they were face-to-face on top of the duvet. “Oil?” he asked huskily.

“Drawer, there,” Merlin nodded to the nightstand. 

Arthur opened the drawer and quirked an eyebrow at the contents. “I see I’ll have a lot of learning to do.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Grab the blue one.”

Obediently, Arthur pulled out a bottle of lube in blue packaging, figured out how to pop the top, and coated his fingers in the liquid. “Huh. This’ll be better than oil, I think.”

“Slicker,” Merlin agreed. “Now open me up and get in me.”

“Bossy,” Arthur said, though he wasted no time fingering Merlin open. Their imprints were complete, and all that was left was to complete the bond itself.

“There comes a point,” Merlin said breathlessly, “when there’s too much fingering and not enough fucking.” 

“Oh, really,” Arthur asked, idly, and too gently, thrusting three fingers into Merlin’s ass. “But what if I like fingering you?”

Merlin keened as Arthur accidentally-on-purpose pressed on his prostate. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a bonding frenzy?”

“Oh, I am, believe me,” Arthur said, withdrawing his fingers and leaning over his Guide. “I’m just savoring the moment, Merlin. After 1,500 years, I think we deserve a bit of savoring.”

“Gods, you’re going to savor me to death.” Merlin panted a bit as Arthur spread Merlin’s knees wide and hitched his hips up over Arthur’s. Arthur got a little more lube, spread it over his cock, then lined himself up.

The first press of Arthur’s cock into Merlin made both men groan harshly. “Right, no more savoring,” Arthur said breathlessly. “Can you handle me?”

“I can handle anything you’ve got, clotpole,” Merlin replied, bracing his hands against his headboard.

“Always could,” Arthur agreed, and let himself go.

He thrust hard and fast, and Merlin shrieked with the sheer joy and pleasure of it, even as he moved to meet the thrusts. Sweat rolled off both men as they strived together to reach climax and complete the bond that was settling between them. The very air became heavy between them as they rocked against each other, harder and harder until Merlin toppled over the edge, dragging Arthur with him. In the same moment, Emrys shrieked and dove into Brenin, and a flash accompanied the pop of pressure that signaled the bond clicking into place.

All stilled.

**.**

A low knock on the sitting room door across the hall caused Merlin to stir a bit. Arthur, still warm, slick and sticky, rested heavily across his chest where he’d collapsed as the bond settled. Merlin cleared his throat. “We’ve got company, Arthur,” he murmured.

Arthur grunted, then somehow found the energy to lever himself off of Merlin and onto his side next to him. “You mean you’ve got company,” he grumbled. “I’m still post-coital. And technically dead.”

Merlin poked him in the ribs. “Details.” He winced as he sat up, and murmured a quick charm for healing his tender ass before swinging his legs to the floor and snagging his robe off the back of his bedroom door. “And I’m post-coital, too.”

Arthur just lifted a hand and waved it in Merlin’s general direction. “It’s just the man from behind your bar. No idea what he wants. Heard him come up the steps. Smelled him too. This tavern already smells better than it did in my day, by the way.”

Merlin tied his robe. “Should’ve been here for Industrial Revolution. The whole country stank.” He tossed a duvet in Arthur’s general direction, then opened his bedroom door a few inches to see that Arthur was, in fact, right. John Trumbull waited on the other side, facing the sitting room door. “Oi, John.”

“Ah, Merlin.” John looked concerned. “All is well?”

“It is,” Merlin gave a half smile. “Everything alright downstairs.”

“All right and tight and locked up for the night. Bit of grumbling about the early close, but the few of us who pay attention to such things felt the bonding and spread the word.” John leaned against the wall. “So are you Sentinel or Guide?”

Merlin stepped out and did some leaning of his own. “My Sentinel was wandering about the Tor this afternoon looking for me.”

“The legends say nowt about that,” John commented. 

Merlin gave a slow smile. “What legends?” he asked lightly. 

John leveled a “don’t-even-try-to-fool-me” look at Merlin. “Those of us who know what’s what, whose families have stood this ground with you for the last thousand years, know very well who you are, Merlin, which means the wandering man is most likely your king, as well as your Sentinel.”

“How fast will this be about the village, then, do you think?” Merlin asked, already thinking about damage control.

“Oh, Mrs. Brace was in for a mo’, just at the right one, as she usually manages it,” John said. “S’likely spread the whole of it by now. But none will share past that, Merlin. As you know.”

He did know. The village had shut itself off on more than one occasion to protect its resident legend over the years. He sighed, anyway. “Do me a favor then? Ask Old Tom if he can put some papers together for me?”

John nodded. “Name and age?”

Merlin thought for a moment. “Why not go with the truth? Er, relatively speaking. Arthur Pendragon Utherson, 29. Born in London, because who isn’t?”

“I’ll let him know on my way home. Shouldn’t be long,” John said, then hesitated. “Your king appearing now? What does that mean for Britain, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin replied steadily. “Mayhap that a bored sorcerer is a bad idea.”

John snorted. “For certain.”

“Right, then. Thanks, John. Tomorrow?”

“I’ll surely be needing my Guinness.” John went back downstairs with a quick salute, and Merlin stepped back into his bedroom, shedding his robe and curling back up next to Arthur.

“Utherson?” Arthur asked. 

“Viking invaders, most of the first five hundred years you were gone. Lots of Anglo-Saxon blood and names throughout the realm. Pretty easy to claim that name, as you’re blond.”

Arthur snorted. “Well, it’ll do, I suppose. I’ll need these papers, I take it?”

Merlin nodded, then shoved at Arthur until Arthur lay flat on his back, with Merlin’s head resting in the comfortable spot on his chest under his collarbone. “Since the middle of the 20th century, we’ve all had to prove who we are on demand. I’ve had to get new papers every thirty years or so, seeing as I don’t age.” He yawned a little. “Old Tom’s family’s been supplying me with appropriate paperwork for ...oh, I don’t know. Centuries, I suppose. I lose track. They’ve been scribes and scriveners for the longest.”

“Fair enough,” Arthur said, stroking through Merlin’s hair. “What’s your legal name, then?”

“As it always has been,” Merlin murmured. “Merlin Emrys. No middle name. Though I think I’m up to Merlin Emrys the fourth now on the official stuff.”

“Why can’t I just be Arthur Pendragon?” Arthur asked.

“Because Arthur Pendragon is a legend, and the Pendragon surname has been mangled or extinct for a very long time, except in Cornwall, for some reason. You can always explain that your parents were Arthurian scholars or something, and that’s why they named you Arthur Pendragon as your first and middle names. But you’d always get a second look if you just took your original name back, only. And I think we’ll want to avoid that for a bit,” Merlin explained quietly, beginning to drift off.

“Merlin?”

“Hmmm?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, prat.”

.

They slept for a few hours before Arthur woke Merlin with his tongue.

.

Repeat.

.

By the time dawn broke, Merlin was pleasantly sore but in need of more sleep. “No more, prat,” Merlin whispered as he felt his Sentinel wake again and start to turn him over. “A tired magic user is an unsafe magic user.”

Arthur chuckled into Merlin’s neck. “C’mon, Mer-lin. I’ll do all the work.” He trailed firm lips down Merlin’s spine and settled at the top of his butt. “Please,” he hummed against the sensitive skin he found there.

“Oh, go ahead, prat, and do your worst,” Merlin said, mentally throwing his hands in the air.

“Don’t mind if I do, then,” Arthur replied, and moved lower.

.

Noon sunshine streamed through his bedroom windows as Merlin opened his eyes again. This time, his bed was empty except for himself, and he could smell any number of appetizing aromas drifting up from the kitchen downstairs. Wednesday, he thought. Cook is making pub lunch, pea soup, and …

“I’m told this is called a club sandwich,” Arthur said airily as he strolled into the bedroom, carrying a tray. “It’s made with something called American bacon, roasted turkey, roasted ham, and some sort of greens.”

“I do know what a club sandwich is, Arthur,” Merlin said, then murmured another quick healing charm before he attempted to sit up. Marathon sex after a couple hundred years of celibacy could take a lot out of a body.

“Yes, well, your cook, Bradon? He was only too delighted to explain everything to me,” Arthur said, setting the tray down on the bureau after shoving his gloves aside. “We’ve got club sandwiches, something called crisps, and tea. He said you preferred tea when you first wake.”

“I do,” Merlin allowed. “Bradon opens up the kitchen early and gets the lunch food prepped for our 11 a.m. opening. I don’t go down to the pub until about 3, normally, but I do pilfer lunch.”

“Saw that pub lunch he does up for the working men,” Arthur said, bringing a plate to the bed with him and setting a cuppa on the nightstand, within Merlin’s reach. “Good, thick bread, onion, cheese. A cup of that soup would be excellent to set someone up for a day in the fields.”

“You never spent a day in the fields in your life,” Merlin scoffed gently, blowing on his tea to cool it before taking a sip.

“Have so,” Arthur objected. “Father required me to know every inch of my kingdom and every job in it. At least once. Of course, that was before your time.”

Merlin grinned widely. “Must have been, as in my time, you couldn’t be bothered.”

Arthur waved that comment away. “I had training to do. Kingdoms to fight for. Damsels to woo. That sort of thing.”

“Ah, yes, you definitely needed training at the damsel-wooing,” Merlin nodded, straight-faced.

They smirked at each other, perfectly in tune as they devoured the lunch.

“What are you wearing?” Merlin asked. “Is that my jumper?”

“My pants, one of your jumpers,” Arthur shrugged. “I came back to you with the clothes on my back. Wish I could have brought more with me, but the ladies weren’t even sure I’d make it back as it was.”

Merlin sobered. “What did bring you back?”

“That, Guide, is a serious conversation,” Arthur said, then took the last sip of his tea. “Get dressed if you’d like. We can go for a walk toward the lake and I’ll tell you what I know.”

.

 

Merlin dragged his Sentinel into the shower before their walk. (“Cleanliness is next to Godliness, Arthur.” “I’m just going to get you dirty again, Merlin.”) Merlin threw on a pair of jeans and a faded grey tee to with his boots, and handed Arthur a pair of black track pants and a matching black tee. “I don’t think my jeans will fit you. We’ll have to head to the shops later and get you some clothes.”

Arthur flashed a smile. “I could handle some shopping.” Merlin rolled his eyes, Arthur laced up his boots, and they strolled out the back of the pub, taking the secondary path toward the lake.

“For the first hundred years, I wasn’t allowed to watch the mortal plane,” Arthur began, taking Merlin’s hand and lacing their fingers together as they navigated the well-groomed path. “The ladies thought I’d drive myself mad wanting to meddle with the lives of my friends, when I didn’t have the power to do so.”

Merlin nodded. “You mentioned the ladies before. Who are they?”

“The ladies of Avalon, Merlin. The Lady of the Lake, Lady Fate, and Lady Magic.” Arthur absently rubbed Merlin’s thumb with his own. “Though the Lady of the Lake is really more like the fountain of life, in a way. It’s she who used the waters of the lake to claim and heal my body. Lady Magic, well, she created me for her own purposes, but Lady Fate had to step in and make some adjustments when she got wind of what Lady Magic was doing. They’re squabbly biddies, really, Merlin.”

Merlin snorted with laughter. “Somehow, I’m sure of it.”

Arthur smiled briefly. “The ladies healed me, trained me, and made sure I knew what was what this time. And I need to be clear with you, Guide, because I know you’ve carried a burden of guilt for far too long--we were not meant to bond in Camelot.”

“But, Arthur, if I hadn’t been a coward--”

“You’re no coward, Merlin,” Arthur interrupted him. “You, the last Dragonlord, greatest magic-wielder of all time, walked into the belly of the beast that was Camelot, knowing you’d be killed if you were discovered, probably in the most heinous way my father could dream up, in order to help me find my destiny. That’s not the work of a coward.”

Fifteen centuries of guilt would not so easily be dismissed, Merlin thought, but he kept his own counsel. “As you say, Arthur.”

Arthur snorted. “You’ll argue with me later, when you start to believe me, just a little.” He squeezed Merlin’s hand. “The truth is, I was a prat. And a clotpole. And whatever other ridiculous names you made up. I had been raised to hate magic and magic users, and I had been raised by a hard man with certain expectations. And like any child raised with such hate, bigotry, and discipline, I was unable to let it go completely. Even as I was dying, Merlin, and I finally knew about your magic, I was afraid of you. Even as a large part of me loved you, and even as I mourned for our lost bond. I could never, in that lifetime, be what you needed. Or what the world needed, really.”

“You were what I needed,” Merlin said, baldly. “Everything I did in that lifetime, I did for you. Even knowing you would hate me if you found me out.”

Arthur stopped them, and turned his Guide to face him under the branches of an oak that spanned the path. He cupped Merlin’s cheek. “I’ve done nothing to deserve your love or loyalty, Merlin, except be created for you. I never trusted anything I didn’t earn myself, because, well, Uther ensured I didn’t. And the magnitude of the deception you were forced to carry through under our noses essentially ensured I felt betrayed when I discovered your magic. And yes, part of that was a game of, ‘what if?’ What if I’d known, and somehow hadn’t murdered you for it? Would your magic have turned the tide at Camlann if you’d been able to practice openly? What if we’d bonded, and my enhanced senses could have helped stop the sword that killed me?” Arthur took a deep breath. “Lady Fate disabused me of the game, Merlin. Camlann was a needed lesson for both of us.”

Tears stood in Merlin’s eyes, but he did not let them fall. “I’m so sorry, Arthur,” he said quietly.

“As am I,” Arthur replied, and laid his lips on Merlin’s.

The long, tender kiss healed some aching part of Merlin that he hadn’t yet explored, and as the kiss broke, Merlin rested his forehead against Arthur’s. They held each other for a long moment, the bond thrumming happily between them. Then Arthur kissed Merlin again, quickly, and reached for his hand. “Moving on,” he said gruffly. 

They started back down the path, and Arthur continued his story. “So for that first hundred years, I had what amounted to intensive therapy with each of the ladies in turn while I was forced to ignore the mortal plane. I still don’t know what happened to everyone; Lady Fate said it would give you and I something to talk about.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “And then, the ladies explained to me that my mission wasn’t complete. I’m the ‘Once and Future King’ they pointed out, and I’d only been king once. So that meant there would, eventually, be more for me to do.

“Thus began the true education of Arthur Pendragon.” He cleared his throat. “I had lessons, in tactics, diplomacy, and myriad other things. Lady Magic and I had numerous discussions about the use of magic and how it worked, because I was created of it, even if I couldn’t wield it. She wanted me to know and understand my Guide’s work.”

Merlin smiled, a little. “I’d have like to have seen that.”

“I’m sure,” Arthur said with a smirk. The lake came within view, and he paused them, looking out. “Time passes differently there, you know. I was gone a long time, but in some respects, it was yesterday.”

Merlin nodded. “It was different out here. Though I couldn’t die, and some days I desperately wanted to.”

Arthur turned to him, fierce. “Never say that again. Never think that again. You are not alone. You have never truly been alone. You are mine now, Guide, and you don’t have leave to die.”

Merlin shook his head. “I never did, as you well know. I’ve only had to live with my guilt and my mistakes for centuries.”

A figure bloomed in the sunshine on the shore of the lake. “And that, my child, is a burden that you have borne with grace, if not patience” she said, and smiled.

“Lady Magic,” Arthur greeted her.

In a word, Merlin could only describe her as regal. She stood tall, her golden hair laced with silver, blue eyes flashing in a care-worn, but finely featured face. “Arthur. Well met. Merlin, it’s good to meet you in person at last.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped, but he managed to close his mouth long enough to clear his throat and entone, “My Lady. Well met.”

She smiled at him. “Heavy has been your burden these long years, child. But I am well pleased with you.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Merlin said, with a short half-bow. How quickly courtly manners come back when needed, he thought, irreverently.

“I’ll let Arthur get back to his explanations,” she said. “I only wanted to greet you both and lend weight to his story. We’ll talk soon, Merlin.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Merlin said.

“My Lady,” Arthur echoed politely. She faded from view, and Merlin simply folded and sat down on his butt on the ground.

Arthur folded himself down on the ground, too, eyeing his Guide carefully. “Your heartbeat is elevated,” he noted, concerned.

“Arthur,” Merlin took a deep breath. “That was  _ Lady Magic _ .”

“Yes,” Arthur looked actively worried. “Do you need something to drink?”

Merlin took a deep breath. Then another. On the third, he raised a hand and glass of water appeared in it. He drank, deeply, then banished the glass. “I’ve never met her before. I know I was created to be your other half, and that Lady Magic had a hand in that. It’s just, beyond weird, like, really beyond weird, to meet your creator in person.”

“Ah,” Arthur said. “I get that. I had the same kind of reaction.”

Merlin drew his knees up and leaned his forehead against them, hugging himself. “Did you know I kept the pub because I wanted to be close to you? To the lake?”

“I gathered,” Arthur said cautiously.

“But I couldn’t stay here all the time, either,” Merlin said rapidly. “It’d drive me mad. I get into these deep depressions, where there was no light, no air. You weren’t here. I couldn’t breathe; I had to leave.”

“I know that, too,” Arthur reached a hand out and smoothed Merlin’s hair, scooting closer in order to do so. “I watched you sometimes, as I said. You’d find magic users in hidden places and teach them things; you’ve marched off to war and helped heal on battlefields. You’ve gone out simply to see the world.” He petted Merlin’s head some more. “Going on these small adventures seems a healthy way to deal with the depression that goes with prolonged Sentinel longing.”

Merlin looked up. “That’s what it was, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said simply. “Time passed differently for me, so that burden was hardest on you. It should be better now that I’m here, and we’re bonded.”

Brenin appeared to Merlin’s left, and head-butted him. Merlin smiled a little, and reached out a hand to pet the huge lion. “You’re a great noble beast, aren’t you?” Brenin flopped over to expose his belly for belly rubs. “I see how it is,” Merlin murmured, and used both hands to rub Brenin’s belly.

“Could rub me like that, too; wouldn’t mind it,” Arthur commented casually.

“Later,” Merlin said, cooing to his Sentinel’s spirit animal.

.

They spoke of lighter things for a time, and Merlin organized a quick trip to the shops in nearby Salisbury to get a very basic wardrobe for Arthur. (“This conveyance is loud and dirty, Merlin.” “At least it doesn’t shit, Arthur. And it’s an Aston Martin; show some respect.”) Over dinner in Merlin’s own pub, Merlin pushed for an answer to his earlier question: “So what brings you here now?”

Arthur looked up from his fish and chips. “Didn’t I say already? We’re not done with our task yet.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, you said that part. But what does that mean exactly? And why now?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair. He’d changed when they’d returned from the shops, and wore jeans with a sapphire blue jumper that brought out the light blond streaks in his hair. “We’re to unite the whole of Albion, and bring magic back out into the open.”

Merlin stared. “And how are we expected to do this?”

Arthur shrugged. “No idea. We’ll figure it out.”

“Why now?” Merlin asked, insistently. “It’s 1995, Arthur. You’ve been gone since about 495, AD. I don’t care what storytellers say--you’re not showing up today because fifteen hundred is a nice, round number.”

“Lady Magic, Lady Fate, and the Lady of the Lake pooled their dwindling resources to send me now because they were afraid they wouldn’t have enough power to send me later,” Arthur said quietly. “There’s an evil afoot that’s siphoning magic from the world, and it’s affecting the rest of it. We’ll need to track it down.”

“And uniting Albion?”

“We’re immortal, Merlin. We’ve got time.”

.

In the quiet of Merlin’s bedroom, Arthur ran a hand down his Guide’s naked back. “Merlin?” he asked quietly.

“Hmm?” Merlin answered, sleepy and post-coital.

“What happened to everybody?”

“They lived, they laughed, they loved,” Merlin yawned. “Some of them have descendants here in the village. John’s family, for example.”

“Really?” Arthur continued his stroking. “Who?”

Merlin smiled. “They’re Leon’s, Arthur. He married a lass who’d come into her own farm. All her brothers had died during Camlann, and it was only she left to work and hold the land. Leon helped her out a bit, fell in love, married her, and, well, they had nine living children. Some went off, but there’s always been someone on that land since.”

Arthur chuckled quietly. “Good on him.” He planted a kiss on Merlin’s shoulder blade. “What happened to Camelot? When I was allowed to look, finally, it wasn’t really a kingdom anymore.”

Merlin turned over to look at Arthur. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Merlin felt their bond, strong and true, shimmering warmly between them, and he smiled. “Let’s start with Gwen.”

Arthur sat up, cross-legged, and peered at him intently. “Go on.”

“First, I need to know something, Arthur,” Merlin said calmly. “Did you know she was pregnant when you fell?”

Dead silence answered him.

“Judging by the look on your face--you really do resemble a fish at the moment, Arthur, what with the gulping and jaw-opening--you didn’t.”

“No,” Arthur ground out. “I did not.”

“Your son was born about six months after Camlann. Gwen ruled as regent, but had little leverage with which to keep the five kingdoms together. She parceled out rule to some of your knights, but managed to maintain the core of Camelot. It’s the whole of what’s now known as the county of Somerset,” Merlin explained. “Brenin mab Arthur ruled fairly, but faced the end of the Roman rule as well as increased pressure from Celts in the north as the Vikings invaded those coasts. One of your many-great grandsons became Alfred, called Great, the only ruler of England to have that title. Your descendants managed to hold the area right up until 1066, when William, Duke of Normandy, invaded England. He took the country, and re-parceled out the land to his retainers. It’s been fought over a good bit, since.

“You ought to know, Arthur, that though William was born out of wedlock, he was of your blood. And to this day, your descendants rule. At one time, in the 19th century, it was said that the sun never set on the British Empire.” Merlin reached out to touch his Sentinel’s arm. “Today, the monarchy does not rule the country, but acts as the head of a government in which citizens have a voice in the way they are governed.”

“I’ve read the appropriate histories as they were written,” Arthur said quietly. “I’d no idea that I had a son, thus no idea any of these rulers were my own descendants.”

Merlin smiled ruefully. “Well, you did say the ladies wanted us to have something to talk about.”

“I guess so.” Arthur paused, quiet for a moment. “What of the others?”

“Percival stayed by Gwen’s side, the head of her guard, until her passing. I believe they were lovers, eventually, but they were very discreet about it if that’s the case. He had no children. Gaius attended the household until he passed, too,” Merlin said, then bit his lip, having a confession of his own.

“I can sense there’s more to the story here, Merlin,” Arthur said, eyes narrowed. “Your heart rate is elevated.”

Merlin blew out a breath. “I took a wife in that first lifetime, and we had a daughter, Imogen. She married well. I have a number of descendants, myself, though I’ve lost track of most of them. None of them live nearby.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And you thought this would disturb me?”

“Well, you know, Sentinel possessive imperative and all that,” Merlin tried to wave it away.

Arthur pounced. “If any touches you besides me, ever again, we’ll have problems.” He lay himself flat over Merlin’s prone body and leaned in to Merlin’s neck, sniffing deeply, then biting the skin there, working it to leave a mark. When he was satisfied with it, he sat back on his haunches and looked down at his guide. “But I can hardly fault you for finding love for a time when you needed it. Especially when I couldn’t be there for you.”

Merlin hauled Arthur down to meet him, devouring his mouth. The heat built between them quickly, and Arthur pulled back in desperation. “Gods, I can’t get enough of you. Where’s the slick?”

Merlin laughed and fumbled for the blue bottle--already pretty well depleted--handing it up to his Sentinel, who slicked his fingers and shoved two into Merlin without preamble. They’d been at it so often over the past two days that it required little effort to make sure the Guide was slick and open before Arthur was pushing his way inside. 

There, he stilled, prolonging their pleasure, and bent to whisper into Merlin’s ear: “Mine. Always mine. Should’ve made you mine that first day, when you said you’d take me apart with one blow. I knew right then, Merlin. I knew right then that you could--if I ever let you get on your knees for my cock, it would be my undoing.”

“I was always yours, Arthur,” Merlin whispered back. “And I’d’ve been on my knees in a heartbeat if you’d ever said the word.”

Arthur thrust again, and Merlin’s eyes rolled back. “We’ll try that. Later.” He sped up, and for long moments the bond surged between them while their passion built, and flew. Merlin tipped over the edge first, singing with the pleasure of both men, and as he came down, he went compliant. A few more strokes, and Arthur came, too, with Merlin’s name on his lips.

.

The next day dawned clear and bright over the land formerly known as Camelot. Merlin made his way down to the pub kitchen early enough to beat the cook, and collected fresh bread, cheese, and fruit. He brewed a pot of tea, too, and took it all up to where his sleeping Sentinel lay, burnished golden in the early light.

Merlin conjured up a breakfast table, pulled two chairs up on either side of it with a flick of his fingers, then set his tray down on the table between them. He stood, looking at the man in his bed, hardly able to process for a moment that he was real. The moment was real. Arthur was back, and Arthur was finally his.

He grinned to himself, then cleared his throat. “Time to get up, Sire! Up! Let’s be having you, Lazy Daisy!”

A grunt and a thrown shoe let Merlin know that all was well in his universe.

 

End of Episode I.

 


End file.
